known only to the lowly
by Mira-Jade
Summary: "Hope is the dream of a soul awake." Gen cast, 50 Sentences
1. Part I

"**known only to the lowly"**

**Genre**: Drama, Angst  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Time Frame<strong>: Book/Musical verse  
><strong>Characters<strong>: Ensemble Cast

**Summary**: Hope is the dream of a soul awake.

**Notes**: This year I am playing around with the 50 sentence challenge over at another site - which prompts one to write four stories a month based on a set of fifty prompts. The fifty prompts result in one sentence each, and then a whole story is formed from the snapshots provided in those sentences. Obviously, this challenge will slaughter grammar, and bring out the seldom seen fandom from the muse - but is a fun and curious thing that has already been incredibly interesting. If you wish to, you can track my progress in my profile.

For April, I knew that I wanted to do sentences for _Les Misérables_– and to do so, I used two of the tables, seeing as how the plot refused to be constrained to just one batch of sentences. That said, this first set deals with Books I and II, while the second set deals with Books III, IV, and V. Besides the random drabble or vignette, I have not yet dabbled much with this fandom (for even though the novel and the play have long been great favorites of mine, I frankly hesitated with botching the rich history that it encompasses.), so please forgive any newbie shortcomings.

And as always, thank-you for reading.

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

* * *

><p><em><strong>01. Restless<strong>_

"_Dear Cosette_," the hand of Jean Valjean trembled restlessly as he penned the story of his life – the story of two men, (one who had spent a lifetime paying for the crime of poverty, and another who held nothing but black and white in his heart as if he were blind Justice herself), their tale told alongside that of those who saw the possibility of a world reborn, and gave their lives for it . . . and the story of a mother who would give anything for a daughter that he now cherished as his own.

_**02. Ravel**_

Before prison, he had been poor in body - he left poor in spirit; before prison he had been tired and frail - he left enraged, but strong of limb; before prison he had been hungry, but he left starving – the light in his eyes was now that of a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth, and harsh with hate for the men who had held his leash in an iron grip.

_**03. Rely**_

"God's justice, not man's?" Valjean asked on a bitter chuckle, his eyes challenging as he met the gaze of the Bishop over the gleam of a silver spoon.

_**04. Raiment**_

Her fingers trembled as she tied her daughter's bonnet for the last time, her heart tugging wretchedly within her chest as the large blue eyes of her child stared solemnly at her – holding all of the bright beauty that Fantine herself once possessed before the harsh realities of life and love shrouded her in mourning gray - a widow made by false love and heartache, if not by death's own hand.

_**05. Rove**_

Valjean wandered for who knew how long – the stolen, yet blessed, silver in his sack, and the weight of a promise and a pardon heavy on his back – turning his feet not in a direction that a compass could measure, but upon a path that only a soul could know, the future spilling from his steps until he adopted it as his own in repentance for his hate and his ignorance.

_**06. Rampant**_

"And that, my friend, is why it is wise never to stick merely to one mistress - _attachments _are made," Blachevelle snickered as Félix burnt the letter (the last, the hard words within had sworn) in the candle's flame, his mouth down turned as he cut the last hope of a tie with the small family he had created from a summer's idle diversion.

_**07. Rancor**_

"Valjean," Jeanne hissed wretchedly upon hearing of her brother's arrest, her tone an unnatural shade of despair that only came to a mother who had seen her children die for want of food - for while trying to put bread in the mouths of her young, he had instead damned them as certainly as if he had held a knife to their throats.

_**08. Rigor**_

He had known hard work all his life, but the labor of Toulon (the sound of chains scraping, and the burn of the number scarred into his skin even worse than the merciless sun above) gave a new meaning to _backbreaking _that he could not completely erase from his mind, even all of these years later.

_**09. Reprise**_

"Inspector Javert, Third Class," the man introduced himself, holding out his hand to the towering Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer, his lupine eyes glinting a shade of silver rather than gray in the low light of the factory – still every bit as fearsome as Valjean remembered them being in Toulon, all of those years ago.

_**10. Regnant **_

The foreman held her fate in her hands, but the woman's eyes were cold as she beheld before her a fallen of her kind - and passed judgment on her for her sins of old, lest she pass her sins on to the pure of her sisters.

_**11. Rumor**_

"She's the on' who sold her hair, her teeth too - the poor girl is ugly as sin now – she has some brat she 'as to feed in some little town, and she sends every sou she can spare."

_**12. Random**_

"Monsieur, any random man would lack the strength for this feat . . . and to be perfectly honest, I have only ever known one man with the strength to do what needs to be done here," Javert said in a low, rumble of a whisper, his eyes those of a wolf bidding a stag to come one step closer to expose himself as Madeleine looked helplessly between the Inspector, and the poor man caught under the sinking cart.

_**13. Ragged**_

"What are you starin' at?" was the taunt from one of the painted ladies by the docks, falling upon Fantine's ears like _prediction_, "You ain't no better than us, dearie."

_**14. Responsibility**_

For Javert, it was his _responsibility _to the law and the people it served to expose the man who called himself Mayor – and yet, without proof, he could not do so; for to impose his instincts (surely, holding instinct higher than intelligence would be to make a beast out of a man) on the system of justice would be tantamount to destroying everything it stood for – and that was something he simply could not do.

_**15. Ruse**_

"_Pardieu_ – but it is too cold to be merely _observing _when one can just as easily join a lovely lady for the night," a young gendarme muttered to his partner, his eyes sullen as he glared across the square to where the good Inspector kept a careful eye on the comings and goings by the docks – of all the superiors he could have been stuck with, it had to be the one who would most certainly not condone his junior officers dabbling in what the darker side of society had to offer.

_**16. Reach**_

Fantine watched from across the street as the mayor knelt down to fashion ships and whistles for the children with his carving knife – the little souls completely unafraid of the hulking man as they climbed all over him – and yet, her heart was not warmed by the sight as she blamed the whole of her descent on the unknowing man's shoulders.

_**17. Revulsion**_

"Dear Lord, but you are ugly," the nameless man who had bought her time murmured under his breath, even as his greedy hands countered his words – and she could only agree in return within the confines of her mind, and hide her hate in her eyes, where he would never dare to look.

_**18. Ripple**_

Miles away, a hungry man named Champmathieu took an apple off of a tree that was not his own, and like a butterfly snapping its paper wings, a hurricane started to brew – one whose winds would reach Montreuil-sur-Mer, and the twisted play of Fate playing out within.

_**19. Reason**_

There were two silver candlesticks that shone on the mantlepiece of the otherwise modest and simple room, the base of them worn of their gleam as if they had been rubbed by anxious fingers on many sleepless nights – the worries and the reasons they held a spoiled spot upon the otherwise immaculate brilliance of them.

_**20. Rubble**_

The bourgeois' words struck a low chord in Fantine, and his taunts coupled with the helplessness of her situation and the hatred that she felt turned her aching hands to claws and her weak limbs to the wings of a hunting bird as she launched herself at the _bâtard hautaine _of a man who thought he could abuse her simply because she was worth no more than the dirt beneath his boots.

_**21. Ream**_

He had started at least a dozen letters to Paris asking that Javert be reassigned, but each and every time he could find nothing wrong with the man's conduct – as an officer he was exemplary, and Valjean found himself holding back nervous bile as his godly sense of justice within him forbade him from making that final stand to send the Inspector away.

_**22. Reek**_

Her cough was getting worse, she knew – (already it sounded from the deep parts of her, aggravated by the winter nights without a fire and spent out in the snow gleaning her work) – and that coupled with her dress that desperately needed to be washed and the oily cast of her shorn hair made for a truly pathetic picture indeed – but, self-esteem left with other emotions as well – amongst them both pride and hope.

_**23. Record**_

"Please, Monsieur le Maire, if you would have a seat while I explain my proposal," Javert mockingly implored (for Valjean, mayor and gentleman though he now strove to be, sometimes forgot even the most basic of protocol in the presence of the other man), and at the subtle line of _order _in his voice, Valjean sat down, obeying the officer as if they were who they were twenty years ago, and the stretch of the law a harsh one between them.

_**24. Remiss**_

Fantine bit her lip, ducking her eyes up to catch a glimpse at the hard man who held her fate in his hands – she did not expect a knight in shining armor from the like of Bamatabois, but for a moment an age old belief saw the law as deliverance, right before she remembered that such saviors no longer sheltered the likes of her.

_**25. Reveal**_

"This is your fault," she hissed, her voice made low and unnatural in her throat by the demon that had taken her body hostage, and with her remaining strength, she spat at the mayor, standing as upright as she could between the guards so that Madeleine could see what had become of her.

_**26. Retort**_

"No, Monsieur le Maire, I don't think that you properly understand the resounding implications of your actions," Javert tried to keep his voice low – _respectful_– but within him, he felt fury burn as the unthinkable happened – that a convict should so easily disrupt the law, and in favor of a fallen prostitute, no less!

_**27. Resentment**_

"The Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer is none other than Jean Valjean," Javert insisted in a low whisper to the prefecture of police, in Paris, breaking his silence only after Valjean had stood in the way of the law being carried out to its full accord, sure within the deepest parts of himself that what he was doing was noble and just.

_**28. Roister**_

"Having her child returned may help lift her spirits," the physician said carefully, and Valjean understood the unspoken with a sinking feeling – that while he could make the poor woman's last days more comfortable, he could not extend them as he would like to.

_**29. Relish**_

Fantine surprised herself by how starved she was for human kindness – and contact, for that matter – for while the Mayor seemed almost shy to be in the same room with her, he would hold her hand the whole of his visit (his hands were callused and huge, fairly swallowing her own), and every day before he left he would kiss her lightly on the forehead – she would shut her eyes in anticipation of the contact, and spend hours taking strength from it after he was gone.

_**30. Repetition**_

"You won't believe it, my sweet, but our letter was answered and by more than we asked for – once again," Monsieur Thénardier grinned into the greasy light of the tavern, his beetle eyes finding the little girl sweeping in the shadows, seeing a new use for the child once more.

_**31. Revere**_

"You do not understand, Monsieur le Maire, my actions were not only a slight against you, but against the institution which governs us all – my dismissal is the only _just_result for my actions," Javert insisted with all of the grace of a soldier waiting for the killing shot, and for a moment Valjean paused, trying to weigh the very real depth of reverence coming from the other man – as sincere as a priest before his cross was his devotion to his duty, and a small part of him found respect in that alone.

_**32. Recoil**_

"Why are you crying, Lark?" came the sing song voice from the two pretty little girls – cruel as only children could be, trailing reeds behind them as they walked as if they were fine ladies with their parasols, and Cosette shrunk away from their laughter and their mean little eyes, drawing in on herself as only those who knew the value of small places could.

_**33. Refute**_

Helplessness was not word enough to describe what Valjean was feeling as he sat in the courtroom and watched as the noose wrapped tighter and tighter under Champmathieu's neck – a noose that was tied for the name of Jean Valjean, a name which he now had no choice but to take up once again.

_**34. Repel**_

Javert was used to giving his reports to exasperated, uninterested ears (after all, he was as slow in ascending the ranks as he was due to his penchant for exact standards – with his own duties, and those around and even posted above him) – and only Fate herself could understand the repelling sort of humor of the Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer being the first to take an active roll, and interest, in the town's goings on.

_**35. Rush**_

"He brings my daughter?" Fantine asked, her arms held out before her as if to take a phantom's embrace, her glassy eyes lost to her body's betrayal, even as her mind took flight under a delirious rush of hope.

_**36. Ripe**_

Favourite held a hand over the young girl's stomach, something almost telling – almost pitying – behind her joyous and worldly eyes as she said, "There is no doubt of it then, you are with child."

_**37. Runlet**_

Javert read the summation from Arras with a disbelieving eye, unaware that near the end of the missive his hands had started to shake - a trickle of pride and relief within him cascading into a fierce wave of vindication and absolution as he read the final word.

_**38. Ramble**_

His moves were fluid and graceful – a countenance for the sheer size of the man, and even though he fought with an animal's moves (his skill taught by village tousles, and yard brawls by those newcomers trying to prove themselves in Toulon), there was still something beautiful to be found in the savagery.

_**39. Ribbon**_

"I swear it," he stammered out on a whisper, his heart clenching inside his chest as he held the dying woman's hand within his own, binding his fate to hers and that of her own with three words – three words that had suddenly became his world and the whole of his future.

_**40. Rankle**_

"I always knew there was somethin' off wit' the Mayor – no one's _that_good, and only a sneaky sort would deny the title first time it was offered – I say good riddance, Lord only knows what sort of schemes he was up to 'hind all o' our backs."

_**41. Right**_

The small child was freezing – trembling, with goosebumps on her thin dirty arms, as the winter wind blew through the holes in her threadbare dress, but when she looked up at him with those large blue eyes – unlike any colour he had seen before – he felt a shock travel through him as he saw Fantine's brilliant gaze in so miserable a little face.

_**42. Recant**_

"We should never have taken you in in the first place," Mother Thénardier muttered under her breath, looking in disgust at the bucket the girl had brought back with her – half of it sloshed out onto the frozen forest floor beyond, and the bread completely forgotten.

_**43. Rotate**_

It was quite strange to Cosette to have such a beautiful figure such as the porcelain doll in her hands (a gift from the Traveler whom Cosette was now suspecting to be God himself, for not even an angel could be so kind), and the child did not even register Éponine and Azelma gazing enviously at her, so complete was the rotation of fate between them.

_**44. Repose**_

"Then fifteen hundred francs?" Valjean tried once again, and for the final time – everything harsh that had once been in him recognizing the greed and deep black avarice burning deep in Thénardiers' eyes – and playing so upon it.

_**45. Rarity**_

For Javert, the law was his duty and life, and yet, while a case closed was a reward in of itself there was an unspoken thrill that came with a hunt through Paris' streets, (the spinning of a web and the final struggling of the fly; tracing that familiar line of nature as old as _instinct_that bid a wolf bay at the moon) - a rapture to a holy man was what the chase of a criminal was to Javert, and he attacked his assignment with a gusto that never failed to leave his men unsettled.

_**46. Rigid**_

"Father Madeleine?" Fauchelevent exclaimed, his gaze wide and rigid with amazement upon hearing the story, for now he was no longer the man helpless under the cart – his role was that of savior, just as the former Mayor had once been for him.

_**47. Rescue**_

"Good Inspector - it was the heat' o' the moment and my overly r'mantic heart that made me say that the girl, Colette – _Cosette_- was stolen; in actuality, her grandfather came for her," Thénardier mumbled out his story as an owl afraid of too much light on his dealings, quick to recognize an absolute sort of law abiding man before him.

_**48. Revelation**_

"You can call me 'father'," Valjean said to the little girl as they wandered through the woods north of Paris, and Cosette looked most seriously ahead as she processed this information – in her, there was an orphan seeking a parent as much as there was a widower in Valjean seeking a child, and both unknowingly slipped easily into the rolls that God saw fit to bless them with.

_**49. Reverie**_

There were times when Fantine would dream while in her fever's thrall – of her and her daughter, living together, and M. Madeleine was always there as well – but then her dream would fade to nightmare as she slowly disappeared from the image, lost to her daughter until the remaining two were left alone – strangely, this nightmare always managed to assure her as much as it caused despair.

_**50. Regard**_

"Papa," the little girl said carefully, burrowing into him with sad, desperate little fingers as he walked, and a part of Valjean flared into life with the brilliant glow of a stoked ember, drawing a soft prayer from his heart and a vow from his soul – he would forfeit his life for her happiness, no matter what path God would push them down in the years to come.


	2. Part II

**Part II.**

_**01. Mystery**_

Beyond the walls of the Convent were a mystery to her, but after ten years, Cosette was more than grateful to leave the world of prayers and down-turned eyes for the bright flare of real Paris beyond her small home – suddenly opened like the inside of a clam shell, just waiting for her to discover pearls untold.

_**02. Deduction**_

Jean Valjean was not simple; he knew that he could not keep Cosette confined as long as he would have liked to, but still he let himself worry as they set out - after all, ever shifting Paris was a dangerous place – and not only for the secrets it threatened to uncover.

_**03. Bullet**_

Gavroche (as he liked to call himself) knew there was a trick for disappearing into a crowd – as a child, and _gamin_ at that, he was invisible to most eyes, which made him ideal for swiping purses and ammunition alike.

_**04. Equivocation**_

"I do not believe in anything other than the warmth of a full bottle," Grantaire muttered, his fingers white knuckled on his glass; still, his eyes caught on a flash of gold and passionate words, knowing very well how easily he could be moved to put his faith in earthling man once more.

_**05. Billow**_

The crimson of the flag was cool and serene, flowing like Moses' red sea on his fingers (darkened by enemy blood and the gratitude of the freed multitude), and with closed eyes he tried to take that strength and fervency of colour onto himself in preparation for the days to come.

_**06. Case**_

The case of Jean Valjean was still open, still cold, and although his superiors would breath a sigh of relief if and when he ever declared the matter truly closed, Javert couldn't quite move himself to take that final step as he tilted his head in the wind - as if he were a wolf scenting prey; and then slowly, he let himself smile: his old friend was back, it would appear.

_**07. Preference**_

The shy smile Marius gave her was easy and light – innocent, almost, and Éponine raised a hand to her face as if to feel an imprint of its warmth – and a part of her found herself longing for that smile to be directed at her again again, filled with that clean easiness that could never just be an absence of mire on the skin, but on the soul as well.

_**08. Debacle**_

"Come now my good man, a bit of riot is good for the Romantic soul - perhaps it will spur those poems of yours on," Jehan looked dubious, but followed his friend anyway, words falling from his mind to spot his papers later – all speaking of ideals and the things given in exchange for dreams.

_**09. Evidence**_

Kneeling down by the puddle, Éponine curiously splashed some of the water against her face, trying to wipe away the mire of the streets from her skin, but while the dirt came off, the dull cast of her skin and the bags under her eyes would not go away – her shoulders jutted out angrily, the bony knobs of her wrists yelled out a miserable tale to any who would care to listen, and in frustration she raked her hand through her reflection, dissatisfied with it.

_**10. Wound**_

"Are you really my father?" Cosette dared to ask on an exhale, giving voice to the whisper of doubt and yearning for truth that had itched beneath her skin like an old scab – determined not to heal.

_**11. Signature**_

The child before him looked more and more like her mother with every passing day, and with a pang Valjean watched as Fantine's eyes smiled and laughed in her daughter's face, given a chance at happiness that she had been denied.

_**12. Footprints**_

"Baron Pontmercy," Marius signed his name for the first, and even on the path that he was embarking on – homeless, disowned, Bonapartist without Emperor, revolutionary blooded without a revolution to fight in, with a mere thirty francs to his name – he felt a sense of pride and accomplishment fill him as he acknowledged his father's legacy openly for all to see.

_**13. Insipid**_

"And they died an equal death – the idler and the man of mighty deeds." Grantaire mocked with Homer's words on his lips when Combeferre's annoyances with him grew higher than he could tolerate, slightly avenged with Jehan snickered in amusement at his choice of words, Courfeyrac reaching out to cheerfully tap his friend on the shoulder when their leader gave them all a cross look for being distracted from his papers and plans.

_**14. Detail**_

Valjean was not blind to the young man who awaited them every day in the Luxemburg Gardens, and furthermore, he was not blind to the careful sort of interest that Cosette let bloom in her eyes – and like generations of fathers before him, he wondered – not completely kindly – why the young man didn't have the courage to approach him directly to have the opportunity to court the girl.

_**15. Identity**_

"Who is she?" Marius breathed on a baited breath, and at his side Éponine was strangely silent as she heard the unconscious note of awe and devotion invade his voice – it was easy to spot a man bewitched, and before her she saw her castle of dreams slowly crumble like the rain falling from the sky to feed the greedy river below.

_**16. Eavesdrop**_

Georges Pontmercy knelt in the back of the church, his lips forming his prayers without giving them word, his eyes almost greedy on the little boy who was his own but never his to hold – not while sympathies and governments built and torn asunder stood between them; an insurmountable barrier to climb.

_**17. Foil**_

"Inspector Javert, First Class," the harsh man finally muttered near the end of their meeting, and Marius blinked at the clipped sort of pride that entered the man's voice at the title – as if he held it more dear to him that a Count held his name in flippant haughtiness, the cadence of it speaking of years spent clawing his way to a position that he now cherished.

_**18. Violin**_

"Dear God, where did Grantaire get the violin from?" Bossuet cringed as the drunken man managed to turn a rowdy bar tune into a rather flagrant and off key ditty about several of Enjolras' attributes – few of them having little bearing on their cause at all.

_**19. Magnify**_

"Cosette," the girl whispered, her fair cheeks turning pink in the dim garden light, and Marius let his heart burst into his eyes as the name of his love magnified and sealed the attachment that had been settling in the deepest parts of himself – sure as he was that he had most certainly found the missing half to his whole.

_**20. Frenetic**_

The bustling of Paris' streets was at its height at the end of the day as workers returned home and the bejeweled city came to true life under the fall of night – and masked by the masses, Éponine delighted in lifting a purse here and another there – enjoying each and every scandalized look that crossed Marius' face.

_**21. Hound**_

It was only a matter of time before Javert found him again - after all, a dog could only shy away from the wolf so many times before his trail was discovered – but still Valjean hesitated over the idea of taking Cosette away, this time, not only moving within Paris – but to another country all together.

_**22. Descry**_

Sometimes, at night, when the city was hers and her thoughts made the world enchanting around her – she would see the good Inspector (_de Loup Garou_) stalking on the other side of the river, seemingly carved from marble like the stone saints within a cathedral – the only light in his eyes that reflected from the lamps, and Éponine reflected, that even _gamine_ though she was – she still had hopes and dreams to counter the soot on her face.

_**23. Puzzle**_

Sometimes, at night – when the city was his to patrol, and his thoughts were made steady by the stars above him, he would stand directly in the middle of the Pont de Change, seeing a symbolism in having a direction to choose on either side of him - the river rushing on determined and uncaring beneath him as it had been doing for far longer than he'd been alive, and as it would continue doing so long after he was gone.

_**24. Tout**_

"I know this house, gents – an' the pay will be great an' sweet indeed," Thénardier grinned a crooked grin to the grisly crew that had collected around him as he outlined his plan.

_**25. Cobblestones**_

Some men were born leaders – and Enjolras, with his angel's face, and Micheal's own wrath in his veins could inspire even the stones to rise up and give cry for his Republic when his voice called out – composed as it was of hymns and a choir's chant, with all of the undertones of Hell waiting beneath its silken tones.

_**26. Fog**_

Ironically, their paths had crossed once – the convict and the Inspector - it was morning, and the fog was thick as Valjean watched from across the street as Javert stopped in a small bakery, the owner's wife almost desperate with thanks for the return of her daughter (apparently, the Inspector's sharp eye had returned the kidnapped child), and the whole way home, Valjean pondered thoughtfully - for so long, the man had played the part of irritant in his own tale, and he had never truly paused to consider whether or not he had played the part of savior to someone else's life.

_**27. Seedy**_

"Éponine, Éponine – cruel and fair," came Montparnasse's sultry voice to her ears, as horrible as it was lovely, "why do you continue to turn away from me?"

_**28. Opine**_

Éponine smiled as best as she could at her younger sister, arranging her skirts on the straw strewn floor, pleating the folds in the patterns cast by the shadows from the cell bars, "There now, 'Zelma," she comforted, "at least here you get fed daily – which is more than you can say for out there."

_**29. Physician**_

"Is Joly dieing again?" Courfeyrac asked, "I say we drink to his memory once more!"

_**30. Consult**_

"And of course, Musichetta, if you feel the need to play the part of grieving lover in accordance with Joly's demise – I lay bare my heart and soul as balm to heal you aching wounds . . . no, my dear?"

_**31. Detective**_

Marius looked down at the two pistols in his hand - the two that the Inspector had given to him, and then out the window to where the sky was darkening – the western sky, where Cosette would be disappearing to, while he would fight for freedom alongside those who fought not of a broken heart, but for the chance of the Republic of their dreams.

_**32. Cuffs**_

Cosette played nervously with the sleeves of her dress, looking up like a startled doe every time a gunshot sounded in the distance, frantic prayers wrenched from the deep of her as she pleaded for Marius' life – unseen by her, Valjean observed her struggle, a war wagging within his own heart as he debated what path to take.

_**33. Escape**_

The pain from the bullet striking through her hand was a new sort of agony - greater than she would have imagined, and so by the time the bullet reemerged, just to settle next to her heart, Éponine looked down in almost numb inference to the blossoming stain on her chest (dear God, but there was so much _red_) – knowing that the escape that she had been looking for would only bear her away, for she could not stand by to let him fall as easily as she thought she could.

_**34. Crime**_

"Come now, child – you have a knife, and wasting a bullet on me is something that you can ill afford, where is your courage now?" Javert mocked the golden haired youth that all of the other schoolboys seemed to bow to, a black triumph spiking through him when the young man faltered for just a moment – revolutionary he may be, the child could not yet bring himself to kill what he could stare in the eye . . . yet.

_**35. Underworld**_

Marius remembered little of his trip through the sewers – only the pain that was burning a black hole into his skin, and the feel of alternately being dragged or carried; the smell of human refuse, and the sound of a curse or two from the gentleman who was secreting him away to safety.

_**36. Woman**_

On the gate, the other girl's hand was very small, pink and rosy against the grime and dark cast of her own skin, and Cosette whispered, "I forgive you, Éponine, perhaps . . . perhaps, someday, you can do the same for me."

_**37. Surmise**_

"A rare sort of eccentric," Combeferre noticed with a raised brow, taking in the older man in the uniform – as hard of eyed as any young revolutionary there, but with a purpose to him that Combeferre couldn't quite put his finger on (for, who came to the barricades not to fight?).

_**38. Palaver**_

"Give me the spy, Javert," Valjean bid in a quiet voice born of iron, drawing a snort from the Inspector as he reflected that the world was turning backwards on its axis for such a mockery of law and order to be taking place (for even still, there was no hate in Valjean's gaze, only a quiet determination and an even more baffling . . . _understanding_ that Javert couldn't comprehend no matter how hard he tried).

_**39. Game**_

"Madame le Baroness Pontmercy," Cosette would say with an impish smile on her face whenever she wished to lift her husband from a dark mood (memory and regret and so many other things dragging him under like a current), the old title a secret source of laughter to them.

_**40. Fuse**_

He felt like a candle being burned at both ends – what was _right_, and what was _just_, at war within him until the wick of his ideals frayed from misuse and the flame threatened to leap into an inferno in his mind – in the end, the only solution to see justice properly served was to douse the flames and take himself from the equation entirely.

_**41. Baker**_

"I think I would have liked to have been a baker," the young man murmured, slipping in and out of his delirium as Combeferre tried his best to cease the bleeding in the artery – he couldn't tell if the man he helped was student or solider, but in the end it didn't matter – human life was human life, and all walks of it suffered in the idea of _something more_ awaiting.

_**42. Street**_

Beneath her, the street that had been her mother, and the wild rain that had fathered her seemed to give her strength as she felt herself bleed away into the night, her last moments on Earth made peaceful by Marius' arms holding her, and the promise of a kiss goodbye once she was dead to him once more.

_**43. Boredom**_

He let his bottle roll away from him as he stood, swaying somewhat unsteadily on his feet as he stumbled over to Apollo; then, staring the emissaries of Hades in the eye (trying his best to look bored and confident while his very being quaked in an instinctive fear), Grantaire murmured, "Kill me at his side."

_**44. Addiction**_

There was a simple stone in the Père Lachaise cemetery, and for the longest time, Valjean stood and stared at its inscription - as if by doing so he could gaze upon the man whose spirit inhabited the grave, if not the body – he had been running for so long that he was quite unsure now how to stand still, knowing that this time, it would be him following the good Inspector into death's waiting jaws.

_**45. Suspect**_

Cosette dressed for her wedding without help, and the knowledge that she had no Mother to give her last minute advice, or Father to give her away tugged at her until she couldn't be sure if her tears fell from grief or happiness – she wiped them away with a very white hand, not wanting her husband-to-be to have to suspect grief for their flowing, the same as her.

_**46. Afterthought**_

In the end, Death had rained down in Paris on the night of the sixth of June without thought or distinction for victim – the corpse of the guard laid flung upon that of a student's, the drunkard by the sober man, the child by the elder man, the poor by the rich, the just next to those who died for their duty – all were made brothers in arms on a night that would not be remembered with patriotic glee, but sobering pity for those who had been torn away in the name of an ideal.

_**47. Sibling**_

"You've got something on your face," Éponine grinned as she wiped a playful hand across the grime darkening her brother's cheek, delighting in the irked look that Gavroche chose to give to her, looking his age once more as he scowled a scowl known to siblings across the years.

_**48. Sociopath**_

"I always knew the good Inspector wasn't completely right in the head," one of the younger officers dared to mock at the solemn memorial held for their fallen comrade, and at his side, his companion only nodded mutely – not daring to give his agreement, seeing as how the Inspector was one ghost whom he most certainly didn't want to see walking home that night.

_**49. Culprit**_

As she read her Father's last words, she leaned almost desperately into Marius' arms – needing his support as she found her tears (a culprit of the grief she could not shake) running freely in memory of those who had loved her – their legacy now a treasure that she would always carry with her.

_**50. Elementary**_

It was a single truth known to those truly weary and rundown: that where deliverance could not come from on high (be it from God's law, or the law of earthling man who governed their fellow beings by), then hope and true joy amongst the mire was gained in its purest form by loving another person, and having the strength of that simple, sustaining devotion in return. 


End file.
